“No,” she whispered. “I need to finish.”
Her voice grew softer, trembling.
“I woke up in a warehouse. The air was cold… smelled like rust and damp concrete. My wrists hurt with zip ties. My mouth was dry, my head spinning. At first, I thought I’d been robbed. But then I heard crying. Soft. Broken. Other women… maybe five or six. All bound. All terrified.”
A tear slid down her cheek.
“And then he appeared. Boris. Not Derek. Not the curator. Not the man who loved art and poetry. He walked in like he owned the shadows. He didn’t even look guilty. He looked… bored. Like we were inventory.” Her breath hitched.
“He said, ‘Don’t cry, Aurelia. You’ll ruin your face. Buyers like purity.’”
My grip on her tightened. Fury burned in my chest, white-hot.
“He’d been grooming me the entire time. I wasn’t a person to him. I was… a product.”
She closed her eyes.
“Three days. I don’t remember all of it. Just the fear. The hands. The darkness. The way he looked at us like we were nothing.”
Her voice was barely a whisper now.
“I thought I’d die there.”
She shook as the memories clawed up her throat.
I pulled her closer, hiding her against my chest, my voice low, steady, promising violence.
“You’re never going to see that place again. And he’ll never touch you, look at you, or speak your name again. I swear it.”
Tears wet my shirt, and my heart shattered for her. "How did you get out?"
"My brother, Killian," she said, her voice cracking but resolute. "He's in the NYPD, organized crime unit. Always protective, always had a tracker on my phone since college. When I didn't check in, he mobilized. Raided the place at dawn, SWAT bursting in, guns blazing. The women... some were freed, others... it was too late for some. Killian saved me, but the nightmares... they stayed."
The images stung.Herwithhim, smiling, unaware of the monster. Jealousy, sharp and irrational, twisted in my gut. My Aurelia, My Maneskin, My Moonlight, touched by that filth. Rage followed, cold and promising violence. Boris would pay. I'd dismantle his world.
I held her close, my lips brushing her temple. "You are mine to protect now, Aurelia. No harm will come to you. Not from him, not from anyone. I'll hunt the shadows until there are none left for you to fear. You're stronger than you know, and I'm here, always."
She relaxed, her breathing evening, the tension easing as she drifted back to sleep, her face peaceful against my chest for the first time that night. I watched her, vowing silently to end this for her, for us.
Chapter 19
Keith
The drive to the Krogen mansion felt like traversing a fault line. Two days had passed since Marcus’s birthday when the call came. Sharp, unexpected, and unmistakably authoritative. Marcus never called unless something was wrong.
The moment I ended the call, the pressure settled in my chest, tightening with every mile. Even the estate itself seemed to brace for my return, the weight of Marcus’s summons hanging in the air long before I reached the gates.
Whatever had prompted that call wasn’t routine. It was a warning. And every second closer to the mansion felt like stepping toward the center of a storm.
I parked my car in the circular driveway, the engine's rumble dying to silence as I stepped out. The mansion stood as it always had. One screamed old money laced with new power. It was a fortress, built to withstand sieges. But for me, it had always been a prison, its walls echoing with ghosts I couldn't outrun.
The butler, Elias, greeted me at the door with his usual stoic nod. "Mr. Krogen. Your father is in the study. He's expecting you."
I nodded curtly, striding through the foyer, my boots echoing on the marble floors. The study door was ajar, and I pushed it open, finding Father seated at the massive desk, a chessboard spread before him on the side table. He looked up, his sharp eyes, greyish-blue like mine, but colder, hardened by decades of deals in shadows assessing me with that familiar predatory glint.
"Keith," he said, gesturing to the board without rising. "Sit. Black or white?"
I dropped into the opposite chair, the leather creaking under me. "White. Your move."
